


With a Blade, Behind Your Back

by VonVarleys



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Haircuts, Hubert has weird fucked up hands from dark magic, Implied/Referenced Patricide, M/M, Mentioned Edelgard von Hresvelg, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, very briefly mentioned doropetra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VonVarleys/pseuds/VonVarleys
Summary: Ferdinand's long hair is becoming a problem. It gets in his face and reminds him of the war. After he makes an impulsive decision, it falls to Hubert to even things out
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 2
Kudos: 95





	With a Blade, Behind Your Back

In the summer of 1185, on a tree-lined boulevard in Enbarr, Hubert von Vestra, minister of the imperial household, stopped to catch his breath and calm himself. There were plenty of mundane reasons why Ferdinand would have stayed late at his offices, Hubert told himself. Legislative meetings ran behind schedule, reports took longer than expected to prepare, and desperate petitioners blocked doorways so that their appeals could be heard before the work day was through. Even though Ferdinand had bought the opera tickets three weeks prior, even though he had that very morning reminded Hubert to meet him at the prime minister’s mansion at six o’clock and it was now seven thirty, there was no reason to assume something had happened to him. Surely, Hubert told himself, it was unlikely that anyone would attempt to assassinate such a popular prime minister, especially so soon after the war’s end. 

Unfortunately, Hubert knew as well as anyone that “unlikely” did not mean “impossible.” Love between men and between women had a long and respectable history in Adrestia, but the minister of the imperial household and the prime minister had decided to keep the personal nature of their relationship quiet, so that neither could be used as leverage against the other. Still, Those Who Slither In The Dark had a way of ferreting out secrets. While Ferdinand was only peripheral to the shadowy world in which Hubert dealt, there was always the chance that something had bled through and ensnared him. Therefore, despite his self reassurance, Hubert quickened his pace as he walked back towards the legislature building where Ferdinand’s offices were located. It wasn’t far. At least the walk helped Hubert push from his mind the images of Ferdinand captured or worse. 

The guards outside the legislature building recognized Hubert, and why should they not? He was, after all, the emperor's right hand man, and while he carried out his duties from the imperial palace where he and Edelgard resided, he was a frequent visitor to important offices in the city. Being allowed in without so much as a weapons check made Hubert both uneasy and relieved. There was always the potential that someone with a particularly good disguise and his lanky build could slip in and wreak incalculable havoc. On the other hand, it meant that, were any of the officials within to become insubordinate, Hubert himself could neutralize them without arousing suspicion. Hoping that such an action would never become necessary, Hubert made his way across the front atrium and up the stairs. 

Hubert had visited Ferdinand in his office twice before, once on official business and once to drop off a gift of tea leaves. By now, he knew well where Ferdinand’s office was located: on the second floor, down the right hallway. There was none of the expected crowd of petitioners in the hall outside, and most of the offices Hubert passed were empty. The Empire’s functionaries had for the most part concluded their work day and returned home. Beneath only one door, to an office at the far end of the hall, was a sliver of light visible. The prime minister alone remained in the building. Hubert approached Ferdinand’s door and knocked twice. 

“Sorry, in the middle of something,” came Ferdinand’s voice from within, and Hubert breathed a sigh of relief. So Ferdinand had not been assassinated after all. He was simply busy and had lost track of the time. 

“It’s me,” Hubert replied from the other side of the door. “I trust you haven’t forgotten our, ah, previous engagement?” 

“Oh! No I haven’t, but I’m afraid I will be unable to make it tonight. If you go to my house, I’ve left the tickets with my butler.” There was something odd about Ferdinand’s voice. He sounded flustered, upset, almost on the verge of tears. 

Hubert didn’t respond to appeals to emotion. “Ferdinand, I’ve just come from your house. I have the tickets with me now. You know that I don’t particularly care for opera. I was simply curious as to why you remained at your office more than ninety minutes after our appointed meeting time. Is something troubling you?” 

“Are you alone in the hall?” Ferdinand asked. 

“Yes, it seems all your colleagues have gone home for the day,” said Hubert.

“In that case, I shall unlock the door and you may enter.” 

Hubert heard footsteps from the other side of the wall and the click of a latch, and twisted the doorknob. “Locking the door?” Hubert remarked as he pushed the door open. “How ignoble for a prime minister to lock his constituents out of--” He stopped the moment he saw Ferdinand.  _ Oh _ .  _ That would do it _ . 

Ferdinand von Aegir was a handsome man. That was a simple, undeniable fact. He had a strong brow, warm amber eyes, and, when he smiled, looked to be the very picture of charm. Ferdinand, however, was not smiling now. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were rimmed with red. The cause of his misery was clear by looking at him. His flame-colored hair, which was thick and wavy and had reached nearly to his waist, was lying on the floor around his desk. What was left on Ferdinand’s head was choppy and uneven, as if it had been cut with an axe. Chunks of it stuck straight out from his head, and the left side was far shorter than the right. It was a jarring sight. 

“Ferdinand,” Hubert started, but Ferdinand cut him off. 

“How bad is it?” he asked. “Not much of a noble now, am I?” 

“Fortunately for you, your appearance has no effect on your noble character.” Hubert had never been one for tact. “Am I correct in assuming you did this to yourself?” 

“Yes, you are correct. I used my sword, and...” Ferdinand sighed. So Hubert had been wrong about the axe. “I can’t appear before anyone looking like this! Oh, Hubert, what am I going to do?” he cried.

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind making the trip back to my chambers in the Imperial Palace, I suppose I could tidy things up for you,” Hubert said. 

“Tidy things up how?” asked Ferdinand. “You wouldn’t happen to know a barber who works nights, would you?”

“I know myself, don’t I?” said Hubert. “My service to Her Majesty is not merely limited to political matters. I pride myself on being someone she trusts to stand behind her with a pair of scissors. In short, I have some experience in cutting and styling hair.”

“And would you be willing to help me? To make me presentable again?” Ferdinand asked. His face shone with hope; Ferdinand always had been one to wear his emotions on his sleeve.

Hubert smiled. “Certainly. The Empire cannot very well afford to have our prime minister looking so...bedraggled.” 

“Thank you, Hubert,” said Ferdinand, beaming. “I cannot possibly repay you enough.” 

“Repayment shall not be necessary,” said Hubert. “I only request that you accompany me back to the palace, where I keep my tools. Instead of the opera, we can spend tonight redoing your hair, and tomorrow morning, you will appear as sharp as ever.” 

“I am most grateful,” Ferdinand said. “However, I am a bit concerned that on our walk to the palace someone might recognize me. Should we wait until it gets darker outside before we go?” 

Hubert glanced out the window. The sky was a lovely salmon pink. “Certainly we can wait a few more minutes. I can also give you my cloak if you would like to cover your head to lessen the chances of your unfortunate haircut being seen. In the meantime, let me clean your hair off the floor.”

“I’ll help out,” said Ferdinand, and the two men crouched down around the desk. 

Hubert grabbed up a handful of Ferdinand’s hair from the floor and studied it. He knew that there were men who kept their lovers’ hair inside of lockets or the cases of their pocket-watches. That had always struck him as distasteful. Hubert didn’t need mere trinkets to remember the objects of his devotion. His way of life was memento enough. Still, looking at Ferdinand’s hair in his hands, Hubert found himself considering taking a lock of it with him. The idea of carrying a piece of Ferdinand with him while executing his less official duties and fighting against Those Who Slither In The Dark struck him as oddly romantic.

Despite these musings, Hubert joined Ferdinand in depositing the hair he’d collected into the wastebasket. It wouldn’t be worth the risk of discovery, and it seemed insensitive to take the hair when Ferdinand was in such a state over it. By the time they had finished, the sky outside the window was a rich cerulean, and the only light in the office came from Ferdinand’s desk lamp. 

“Well, shall we depart?” Hubert suggested as he pulled the last few strands of hair from his fingers.

“Yes, let’s,” said Ferdinand. “You mentioned something about letting me borrow your cloak to hide my head?” 

“I did. You wouldn’t want to be recognized would you? A haircut like the one you have now might attract stares, so I suppose it would be best to cover it completely.” Saying this, Hubert unfastened the clasps over his sternum and pulled his heavy, hoodless, black and red cloak from his shoulders. 

“I cannot thank you enough,” Ferdinand said, taking it from him and wrapping it over his haphazardly shorn head. He didn’t bother with the buckles. Instead, he simply pulled the fabric together like an old peasant woman. 

“I don’t require your thanks, but I shall accept it anyway,” said Hubert. He blew out the lamp, and the pair left the office together. 

So as to avoid the guard station at the front of the building, Ferdinand led Hubert out through a service corridor. It was a useful thing for Hubert to know about, should his work ever require that he leave the legislature building unseen. The door could only be opened from the inside, however, which meant that it would be unsuitable as a covert entrance. 

The imperial palace was just on the other side of the arch, but simply walking through Victory Square on a balmy summer evening was out of the question. They’d almost certainly run into someone who wanted a moment of Hubert’s time, and a moment would turn into a while, and Ferdinand would be discovered. No, they’d have to take the back alleys, walk around the square, and enter the palace from behind. The smell of the canals wafted through the warm night air and mingled with the distant talk and laughter from the main thoroughfares. Hubert led them through the park behind the ministry of war and along the flank of the imperial palace towards the gardeners’ entrance by the greenhouse. While this particular gate was used primarily by the palace’s grounds staff, Hubert used it as well, due to its out of the way location. He preferred that his comings and goings be as unobtrusive as possible. 

Ferdinand and Hubert walked in silence through the palace garden. Ferdinand had never before visited the Vestra wing of the palace, where Hubert lived and worked. Employees of the ministry of the imperial household did not hold private audiences with anyone but the emperor, and they had been back in Enbarr for such a short time. Their previous visits had all taken place at the prime minister’s mansion, where they had more privacy. However, Hubert’s tools for cutting hair were stored at the palace, so it was to the palace that they went. 

They entered the Vestra wing through a door a short flight of steps below ground level that appeared to be a servants’ entrance. Hubert lit a lamp as they entered, and Ferdinand was astonished by what he saw. On the other side of the door, instead of a cramped pantry or laundry room, Ferdinand found himself standing in a wood paneled entry hall that, other than it being subterranean, would not have been out of place in the home of a minor branch of one of the six great noble families. The walls held portraits of well-dressed youths Ferdinand did not recognize, all with caramel brown hair and violet eyes. At the far end of the hall was a carpeted staircase, curving upwards towards an elegant walkway. “Hubert, do you live here?” Ferdinand asked. 

“Not in this particular room, no,” said Hubert. “My chambers are up the stairs and to the right.” 

Ferdinand turned to look at one of the portraits, a teenage boy in a red waistcoat with a stack of books by his side. “Are these your relatives? I wasn’t aware that house Vestra had any minor branches.” The painted face looked nothing like Hubert’s, but why else would his portrait be hung in his hall? 

“No. They are Hresvelgs,” said Hubert terseley. Saying anything more would reveal Edelgard’s private grief, a grief to which Ferdinand would certainly be sympathetic, but a private grief nonetheless. It would also speak to their fathers’ betrayal of the imperial family, the shame of which still weighed heavily on both their hearts. 

“I see.” Now that they were inside, Ferdinand let Hubert’s cloak fall down around his shoulders. His hair really did look atrocious. Hubert would have to cut it very short, shorter than it had been in their academy days, to even it out. 

Hubert led Ferdinand up the stairs and into the second floor hallway, lighting lamps as they went. It seemed odd to Ferdinand that they had not yet encountered any servants in the Vestra wing, but Hubert preferred it this way. In his line of work, privacy rated more highly than convenience. 

Eventually, Hubert stopped in front of a door with a frosted glass window inset, and put his hand on the porcelain knob. “This is where I live,” he said to Ferdinand. “I usually cut her majesty’s hair in her own chambers, but I can do yours here.” 

“I cannot thank you enough,” said Ferdinand, as Hubert pushed the door open and lit a lamp.

Inside was an understated parlor, with a thick Almyran rug over a stone floor, a short wooden table with a chess set, and red and white floral wallpaper. Windows framed by red velvet curtains reflected their forms in the light. There were more portraits on the walls, including one Ferdinand recognized as being of Ionius the ninth and another of the empress Edelgard. 

“Are you hungry at all, Ferdinand?” Hubert asked. “I don’t often entertain, but I do keep a bit of cured fish and bread on hand in my pantry.” 

“Some bread might be nice, yes,” said Ferdinand. “Thank you very much.” 

Hubert was relieved; he was beginning to feel the pangs of hunger as well. The two had initially planned to eat in one of the restaurants near the opera house before the show, so he had intentionally eaten only a light breakfast that morning. “Well then, I shall fetch some. Make yourself at home.” 

Ferdinand set the cloak down on one of the sofas and took a seat beside it. Under ordinary circumstances, a visit to Hubert’s chambers would have been a cause for joy, but tonight he just felt gloomy. It had been an awful day at the office, and his impulsive decision to cut his hair had just made everything worse. He’d been looking forward to the opera that night too, but he’d had to go and ruin that. 

Hubert returned bearing a sliced loaf of bread, hard cheese, sardines in oil, and a small dish of preserves. He set the tray down on the table and took a seat on the chair opposite Ferdinand. The preserves were a nice touch, Ferdinand thought. He knew that Hubert didn’t much care for them, and yet he kept them in his kitchen anyway. Perhaps they’d been a gift from someone who didn’t know his tastes. Regardless, it was kind of Hubert to put them out for his guest. Ferdinand took a slice of the bread and spread it with the sweet red jam. 

“So,” said Hubert, crossing his legs. “Why did you not simply schedule a visit with a barber? Why take a sword of all things to your own hair, in your office? I trust that there is a reason for your actions.”

Ferdinand swallowed. It was something he’d wanted to discuss with someone, but that didn’t make actually saying it any easier. “Hubert,” he said, “Do you ever think about the war?” 

“Naturally. It ended less than half a year ago, and we are still cleaning up the mess.” 

“Of course. Does it ever bother you to think about it? The things we saw, the things we did: though the war is over, I cannot forget them and be done with it. I aim to be an exemplary peacetime prime minister, but my mind is still at war in Faerghus. Every time it rains, I’m on the Tailtean Plains again. And today in my office, when my hair fell in my eyes as I leaned over my work, the color made me think of the flames we saw in Fhirdiad. Do you remember Fhirdiad?” 

“Of course I do,” said Hubert. “The so-called Immaculate One was a demon, and it fell to us to purge her from this world.” He took one of the fish and put it onto a slice of bread. 

“What she did cannot be forgotten so easily.” Ferdinand had not yet spoken to anyone of his troubles in this way, but at least he could rest assured that Hubert wouldn’t pity him, wouldn’t try to offer empty comfort. Hubert would tell him straight out if he had been rendered useless to Adrestia. “I feel as if I never left Fhirdiad. How can I be prime minister of an empire at peace if I cannot forget the war? It’s bad enough that I see the city on fire in my dreams, but that I see it in my office too? I am unfit for my position. I’m hardly worth being called a noble, much less a high official.” 

Hubert chose his words carefully. He did not wish to reveal too much about her majesty, but he still believed that Ferdinand deserved this truth at least. “I assure you that you are still a far superior prime minister than your predecessor. While I can only sympathize with your feelings from the outside, I have heard others speak of the same ailment, including individuals in similarly high positions. Since the war’s end, I have heard not a single complaint about your job performance. I hold your abilities in very high esteem, and so does her majesty. If you truly were unfit, you would have already been relieved of your duties.”

“Thank you, Hubert. I trust that if I ever do become unfit, you would do what is best for the Empire,” said Ferdinand. It was a relief to hear that he wasn’t alone at least in his suffering. Still, his heart ached for whoever else in the Adrestian government was plagued by such horrific memories. “You know, the real reason I grew out my hair was that, being on the front lines, I didn’t have time to visit my barber in Enbarr. I had been thinking that, with the war over, I ought to cut it again, to move on.” 

“And you couldn’t wait to make an appointment. Very well, I shall do my best to repair what you’ve done,” said Hubert. “Perhaps shorter hair will even help you cast off the feeling of being at war.” 

“Exactly. I shall be like a new man,” Ferdinand replied. 

_ Ever the optimist _ , Hubert thought. He knew from his lifetime of service to Edelgard that such memories were not cast off so easily. Still, if something as simple as a haircut could offer any relief at all, Hubert was glad to be of help. “In that case, I am eager to finish the job.” 

Hubert finished his food quickly, eating just enough to sate the grumbling of his stomach, but Ferdinand ate more slowly. “I am sorry to miss the opera though,” said Ferdinand after a moment’s pause. “I had been looking forward to seeing the Mittlefrank company perform again.” 

“There will be no shortage of opera in our remade Empire,” Hubert replied. “You won’t be deployed again; her majesty will keep the Empire at peace. The only barriers to your enjoyment of opera will be the schedule and the ticket prices, though I doubt the latter will be much obstacle for a man of your status.” 

“That is true,” said Ferdinand, “But I meant tonight. It’s a shame I can’t see Dorothea on stage one final time before she departs for Brigid.” 

Hubert began to wonder what strings he’d have to pull in order to procure tickets for the next night’s show. It was very short notice, yes, but perhaps if he found someone who had tickets already and applied the proper amount of pressure…

Ferdinand finished his bread and jam. “I suppose that nothing can be done.”

“We’ll see. In the meantime, I am ready to begin work on your hair. You can’t possibly attend the opera looking like this.” Hubert rose. 

“That is true,” said Ferdinand, following Hubert as the latter led him down a short corridor and into his room. “Again, you have my thanks for your assistance.” 

It was plainly decorated for a bedroom in the imperial palace, but very tidy, with a bed, a desk and chair, and a dressing table with a mirror. It was to this dressing table that Hubert led Ferdinand. He pulled up a chair and motioned for Ferdinand to sit. 

Ferdinand removed his cape and jacket. They already had a dusting of hair from when he had cut it that afternoon, but he didn’t want to mess them up even more. He supposed he’d brush them off with a clean curry comb when he returned home. 

Sitting in front of the mirror, Ferdinand finally got a good look at what he’d done. He’d known it was bad by the lopsided feel, but not that it was this bad. He felt queasy just looking at it. He really should’ve known better, but his flame-colored hair kept getting in his face and startling him, and he was already on edge, and he’d barely slept, and he had wanted so badly to not be Ferdinand the general anymore but Ferdinand the prime minister of an empire at peace. He shut his eyes and resolved himself to trust in Hubert. There was no way he could come out looking worse than he already did. 

Standing behind Ferdinand, Hubert had already removed his coat, and, after a moment’s thought, decided to pull off his gloves as well. He didn’t wear them when he cut Edelgard’s hair so as to improve his sense of touch, and he knew he didn’t have to worry about her seeing his hands. As for Ferdinand, well, he couldn’t keep his gloves on around him forever. Besides, Ferdinand had shown frankly unbelievable trust in Hubert, both by letting him cut his hair and by telling him about his troubles. The least Hubert could do was return the favor. 

Hubert leaned around Ferdinand’s shoulder to pick up a box from the top of the dressing table. Inside were two pairs of scissors, one plain and the other toothed, a razor, and a fine toothed metal comb. He lay his tools out on the top of the table, then stopped. “I’m going to wet your hair before I do anything else,” Hubert warned. When he cut Edelgard’s hair, he always started by wetting it. 

Ferdinand had noticed Hubert’s hands, but simply told him “Go ahead.” He was glad that Hubert seemed to know what he was doing. The emperor’s hair was always immaculate after all. 

Hubert walked into his adjoining washroom and returned with a basin of water and a towel. He dipped the towel in the water, wrung it out just enough that it was no longer dripping, then ran it over Ferdinand’s hair. Ferdinand flinched involuntarily at the cold water running down the back of his neck and soaking into his collar, and Hubert stopped. “Is something troubling you?” he asked softly.

“The water is a bit cold, that’s all,” Ferdinand said. 

“Ah. I should have thought to warm it,” said Hubert. “My apologies.” 

“No, no, it’s not a problem at all.” Ferdinand kept his eyes open, looking ahead at the mirror. 

Hubert happened to glance in the mirror as he picked up the comb. A flash of silver in one hand and a damp towel in the other, as he stood behind another man’s back. He stopped.  _ So that was what it looked like. _ Of course his father bore no resemblance to Ferdinand, but barely more than five years prior, a twenty-year-old Hubert had stood behind him as he sat in his study, just like that, before he had held a towel dipped in chloroform over the Marquis’s mouth and nose so he couldn’t scream when his throat was cut. 

Hubert didn’t know how long he stood there looking in the mirror before Ferdinand’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “Is everything alright, Hubert? You have a strange look on your face.” 

Ferdinand looked and sounded nothing like his father. Nothing at all. “Yes, everything is quite alright. It simply amazes me that, knowing me as well as you do, you’re still willing to let a man like me stand with a blade, behind your back.” 

“Should I not?” Ferdinand said, half joking. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Strangers, enemies to the Empire, might have a good reason to fear you, but me? Not at all.” 

Hubert smiled. He used to keep count of the people he had killed. Not on the battlefield, that was beyond counting, but the ones he had killed surreptitiously, as part of his service to Edelgard. He’d stopped after her ascension to the throne, but not before his father became number thirty-eight. “I appreciate your trust, and I am glad that my duties do not require your death,” said Hubert. Gently, slowly, he began to comb Ferdinand’s damp hair. He would never betray that trust. Not ever. 

Ferdinand met Hubert’s eyes in the mirror. “It would be unthinkable.” 

“Yes, truly.” 

As he combed, Hubert noticed how different Ferdinand’s hair was from Edelgard’s. The emperor’s hair was straight, thin, and draped like a silk ribbon over Hubert’s hands. Ferdinand’s hair was much thicker than Edelgard’s and had considerably more curl to it. Its texture felt similar to Hubert’s own. Maybe, like his own hair, it would be more forgiving to his scissors. With that in mind, Hubert took a section of Ferdinand’s hair between two fingers and began to snip. A few red curls fell softly to the wooden floor.

“Just supposing,” said Hubert, “That I could get us tickets, would you want to go to tomorrow night’s showing?”

“Why certainly,” said Ferdinand. “I’m sure it’s been sold out, however.” 

“Supposing I somehow got us tickets anyway.” Hubert had found the shortest patch of Ferdinand’s hair, just behind his right ear. He cut away a longer section to match the length. 

“In that case, I would be delighted,” said Ferdinand. “I won’t be resting my hopes on it, however.”

Hubert took another section of hair in his hands. He started cutting up from the bottom. “Of course not.” Locks of hair cascaded down Ferdinand’s back. Some caught on his collar. The back of his head was warm against Hubert’s hands. He was warm and alive and there was absolutely no reason why he shouldn’t be. Hubert’s hands were tainted by years of dark magic and assassination, and yet Ferdinand could live beneath them. Life was forgiving, unbelievably forgiving: even a man like Hubert was given this moment of grace. 

Ferdinand watched his hair change shape slowly in the mirror. Hubert was evening out the right side nicely, switching between pairs of scissors and the straight razor as he went. The end result would be much shorter than Ferdinand had ever worn his hair before, but that was alright, even a little exciting. He wouldn’t look quite so fashionable, but the point was to look different, to look new. To no longer look like he did during the war. He was grateful to Hubert for his kindness, both in cutting his hair for him and for taking his concerns seriously when they had spoken. 

Ferdinand didn’t believe in letting emotions get in the way of work, and he knew that Hubert didn’t either. While yes, they occasionally went together to Enbarr’s restaurants and cafes for personal conversation, the majority of the time they spent in each other’s company was strictly political. Ferdinand saw Hubert more often in the palace council room than at the prime minister’s mansion, and this was the first time he had ever been to Hubert’s chambers. Both he and Hubert were busy men, occupied with the running of the Empire through these early months after the war. Ferdinand loved his work. He lived for politics, for plotting out and executing the grand future of the Empire. When he faltered, as he had that afternoon, he felt not only shame but a hollowness at his very core, as if he had ceased to be himself. And yet, it was in Hubert, this most unsentimental and duty-minded of men, that he had found relief. It was a relief that only Hubert could provide. 

The scissors broke the silence with their faint snipping sounds. Ferdinand’s hair was beginning to look more intentionally short. Hubert was proud of the job he was doing. Perhaps it wasn’t the sort of haircut he could have gotten in one of Enbarr’s higher end barber shops, but it wouldn’t attract any negative attention. Hubert imagined how Edelgard would react, how she would try to suppress her surprise but it would show regardless, and smiled. Ferdinand with short hair would take some getting used to, but that was the entire point. The time shared with Ferdinand and the anticipation of the end result was enough for Hubert to forget his worries. All he had to think about in that moment was the work he was doing.

Hubert walked around between Ferdinand and the desk to even out the front. There was very little space between them here, not enough for Hubert to bend his legs without resting his knees atop Ferdinand’s. Their eyes met, and it took effort for Hubert to return his gaze to Ferdinand’s hairline. As he leaned over, he could feel the temperature rising in his face. He could have reached out and held himself against Ferdinand’s chest, could have leaned forward and kissed him on his handsome mouth. Instead, Hubert focused on the work of trimming Ferdinand’s bangs. Ferdinand hadn’t touched them with the sword, but it seemed strange to leave them long when the rest of his hair was so short. His hand brushed Ferdinand’s forehead, soft as satin, as he worked. 

Ferdinand held himself perfectly still. He knew that his haircut was drawing to an end. Part of him was excited to see how he would look when Hubert was finished, but another part of him didn’t want the moment to end. Drying locks fell down his face as Hubert cut away at his bangs, tickling him. 

And then Hubert stepped away. “How does it look?” he asked Ferdinand, and Ferdinand studied his reflection in the mirror. It was very short. His head felt light, and the new shape of his hair made his face look younger. He didn’t look quite so elegant as he had before, but there was something dignified about the new style. Ferdinand could see himself appearing like this before emperor Edelgard, or before the other ministers. And most of all, he looked different. The man he saw in the mirror was no longer at war. 

“It’s excellent,” Ferdinand said. “Thank you.” 

“I’m glad it meets your standards,” said Hubert. “You should probably wash it out before tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to shed.” 

“I will, thank you,” said Ferdinand. He paused, looking at Hubert in the mirror. “Before that, would you mind if I stayed here with you for a while? We were going to spend this evening together. I could help you clean up.”

Hubert closed his box of tools and set it on the dressing table. “I was going to suggest that myself. I am quite fond of your company.” 

“As am I.” Saying this, Ferdinand stood. He looked back into the mirror, brushed off his hair, and turned towards Hubert. The night was still young. 


End file.
